Page 110 of Sinners Reunion

“How could you tell?”

“I mean, probably the fact that I caught you at all. But, either way, I really enjoyed the role reversal.”

“Did you want to pursue me again this time?” He runs his finger down my side, but I don’t respond.

I can’t.

My gut has my throat and my asshole in a simultaneous grip as one hell of a stomach cramp burbles through my insides.

I’m really starting to question eating one of those sketchy bright-red hot dogs Chef Maurice bought at the even sketchier grocery store. My stomach sends off another warning flare, and I’ve got about twenty minutes before I involuntarily find out if King is into poo play.

“Oh, wow.” I tuck into myself a bit more and pray the cramp doesn’t move into fart territory.

King shuffles around in front of me, likely moving away so that he isn’t in the splash zone should things go horribly, horribly wrong. When the cramp recedes and I can unfurl my intestines from around my spine, I turn and see him holding my clothes toward me. He’s already pulled on his shirt and gotten one leg into his shorts.

“Let’s take five.” He motions me closer and starts positioning my shirt to help me into it. “I shouldn’t have let you eat those questionable meat logs last night.”

I stand and step into him, grateful for the help. He eases the tank top over my breasts, not lingering at all. It’s a comfort to know I’m not only something sexual to him. It’s a comfort to know that when it counts, he’s still here, helping me hobble to the nearest toilet so that I don’t shit my pants.

“I’ll get you up to the restrooms at the trailhead. Then we can pop back to the RV if you need to take a proper powder before resuming our game of tag. Of course, if you need to call it quits for the night, we can do that as well. You can decide once you’ve”—he wiggles his fingers at me—“released some pressure from the kettle.”

I try not to sing the little teapot song as he helps me into my shorts. Another cramp barrels through my stomach when I put my foot into the first leg hole. It starts as a mild discomfort and works its way to a fatal knife wound by the time I step into the second leg hole. I freeze, unable to move.

“Just brace yourself against me. I’ll hold you steady until it passes, my beauty.”

“Not sure how you can call me that when I’m literally about to shit myself.” I grit my teeth as a cold sweat snags me in a death grip. “If you ghost me after this, I will completely understand. No hard feelings.”

He pulls my hair away from my neck and fans my skin. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about at the canyon.”

“Ghosting me?”

Panic attack has joined the chat. My guts revolt, and now I’m nauseous. If it comes out both ends, is that like a double negative? Do they cancel each other out? Can we pretend tonight never happened?

“No, not that. The opposite of that.” He sighs and drops my hair to one side of my neck. “Now really isn’t the best time for this. Perhaps we could continue this discussion once you’re feeling well?”

The cramp finally releases, and I feel like I’m playing Russian roulette with my asshole at this point. Any second now and the bullet will fire from the chamber. We cannot undo what will be done.

King kneels in front of me. “Hop on. The trailhead isn’t far from here, and we can move faster this way.”

I climb on and oh, thank fuck for this. There was no way I’d make the trek with these cramps ripping through me every few steps. As he bounds along the trail, I’m able to relax against his back and focus on keeping the next wave of pain at bay.

My nose presses against his shirt, and I breathe in the scent of his skin. There’s a slight electricity to him—the scent of rain just before a lightning storm. I take a deep breath, and I actually think I might make it. When I open my eyes and look over his shoulder, I can even see the rise in the hill that will take us up to the trailhead.

But I’ve spoken too soon.

The buzz of an engine freezes King in place.

He sets me down and motions for me to get into the bushes; the whine draws closer.

We dash toward the side of the trail and tuck ourselves into the shadows. This is a secret part of the campground no one is supposed to know about. If anyone finds us here, we could be in deep shit. Jim and King have a lot of pull, especially within the government, but our National Parks employees are mostly Dudley Dorights who have no chill. Quinn said she contacted them about using Smoky the Bear for an erotica, and they flat out told her no thank you.

See? No chill.

Meanwhile, I think it was a brilliant idea.

The ATV speeds by, plenty close enough for us to see the two naked bodies and smiling, wrinkled faces.

And we can’t forget that nutsack.